


Truth

by Luthien



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in the woods near Rivendell, on what turns out to be a momentous day for Aragorn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Telanu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Telanu).



> Written for Telanu as part of the Five Acts Meme. Prompt was "age difference", with also a touch of "possessiveness" and "trying to resist unbearable temptation" as well.
> 
> NB. You need to read 'the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen' from Appendix A of The Return of the King to get the context of this.

Estel wandered through the woods. It was just shy of sunset, and the leaves on the trees were turning to gold in the last bright light of the old day. The light hadn't started to fade yet, but soon that would change, and take the trees' moment of glory with it. Even right now, in this, their crowning moment of the day, the trees here didn't possess the beauty of the mellyrn he'd seen on the fringes of Lothlorien, with their silver bark and bright gold autumn leaves. But still these trees remained closer to his heart than anything Lothlorien could ever offer him. These were the trees that grew in the woods of Imladris, and everything about them spoke to him of home.

Estel - No, Aragorn. Aragorn was his right name, as he'd learned only yesterday. It was the name he'd been born to, the name that belonged to a great and mighty lineage of which he was already proudly working to prove himself worthy. He was twenty years old, and a man full-grown. He was ready to carry a man's name.

Aragorn stilled. He'd heard a sound, he was sure. There it came again: the snap of a twig amidst the rustling of the leaves and the sounds of the birds high above.

"Good evening, son of Arathorn," a voice said from nearby.

The smell of smoke hit Aragorn's nostrils at the same moment. "Mithrandir!" Aragorn said with a glad cry.

The wizard stepped out from behind a tree. "That is the name by which I am known in these parts," he agreed, before taking another puff on his pipe.

"And you called me 'son of Arathorn'," Aragorn added. "You knew, then?"

"Of course." Mithrandir regarded him, eyes sharp beneath his bushy brows.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Aragorn asked.

"I think you know the answer to that question already. The time was not yet right."

"Is that why you befriended me? Because you knew I was the Heir of Isildur?"

"That was the reason I kept an eye on you from the moment you were born."

"So…"

"Don't be foolish enough to attempt to finish that sentence, Aragorn son of Arathorn." The words were sharper even than the look of a moment ago. But then Mithrandir let the warmth come back into his eyes as he added more gently, "Of course we are friends. Or at least I am your friend, for my part."

"And I am yours," Aragorn said, feeling foolish as he almost always did after failing to keep himself in check when talking to Mithrandir.

Mithrandir smiled at him, and bent down to sit on a nearby log. He patted the place next to him. "Sit down and tell me what you've been up to since we last met."

Aragorn sat, and for the next little while regaled his friend with tales of his recent exploits in the company of the sons of Elrond.

Sometimes, Aragorn forgot that Mithrandir was a great and powerful wizard. When they sat and talked, like this, Mithrandir was simply a friend, a great and dear friend. It was only when he stopped to look around, after fully half an hour must have passed, that Aragorn realised that the leaves on the trees all around them were still gold with the afternoon sun. Surely the sun should have set by now?

He turned to Mithrandir, and found that Mithrandir too, was bathed in the golden light from both the sun and, somehow, from the trees themselves. An old man in grey: that was how anyone would describe Mithrandir's appearance, if asked. Yet that was wrong, so very wrong. Mithrandir was something greater, beyond men, beyond elves, beyond age, even. Aragorn had known that, seemingly for ever, but this was the first time he'd been permitted to catch a glimpse of it.

He leaned up and brushed his lips against Mithrandir's. He wasn't sure why he did it, but every part of him screamed that it was the right thing - the only thing - that could be done in that moment.

The light faltered.

Aragorn opened his eyes. Next to him was the familiar figure of the old man in grey. The only thing different about him was the expression on his face. Aragorn had never seen that expression before. He'd never seen Mithrandir visibly shaken before. He hadn't thought that it was possible.

"I think…" Mithrandir said hoarsely, and stopped.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn said quickly, feeling foolish yet again.

"I think…" Mithrandir said again, and reached up to touch Aragorn's temple with his fingers. His hand cupped the side of Aragorn's face and he looked deep into his eyes in a way that made Aragorn close his eyes and sigh deeply.

And then the hand was gone, with just the very tips of Mithrandir’s fingers left touching Aragorn's temple.

"I think this should be forgotten," Mithrandir said, and the warmth of the sun reached into Aragorn's head, into his heart, the blinding gold suffusing every part of him until there was nothing else left.

Aragorn opened his eyes. His friend Mithrandir was sitting beside him.

"Mithrandir? How came you here?" he asked. He couldn't remember how they had come here, or indeed when Mithrandir had arrived back in Imladris.

"We've had a pleasant chat, but now it's time I was getting back. I have much to discuss with Elrond," Mithrandir said, getting stiffly to his feet. "I will see you at dinner, I trust."

"Indeed. I await our dinner conversation with pleasure, Mithrandir," Aragorn said. "I have much to tell you."

Mithrandir looked at him searchingly for a moment. Apparently, he didn't see whatever he was looking for in Aragorn's face - or perhaps he did - because after a moment he looked away. "You should call me Gandalf in future," he said.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, puzzled.

"That is how I am known to the men of the North. And you are very much a man of the North, son of Arathorn."

"I- Then you knew!" Aragorn exclaimed.

But Mithrandir - Gandalf - was already gone.

Aragorn sighed. Gandalf always departed at a time of his own determining, and nothing would ever sway him.

He got to his feet. The sun was just a breath away from setting. It was his favourite time of the day to be out in these woods. He set off along the forest path, singing. The tune was also one of his favourites: the Lay of Luthien.

It was a good day to be alive, and, at last, to know the truth.


End file.
